Work Text:
“Coffee please. Two large black coffees.”
The barista smiled in a sweet if stunned way. “So, you want two americanos?”
Clint Barton took a deep breath and reminded himself if he yelled at this hapless woman Bobbi would be upset with him. It was just that the Christmas music in the mall was giving him a vicious headache. They'd been out on mission after mission from Thanksgiving on and this was the first chance they'd had to shop, Christmas Eve day.
He pointed at the pot of coffee that miracle of miracles had just finished percolating behind her. “Please pour that into two cups. The largest cups you have. And hand them to me. I will pay you any amount of money you want if you do that right now.”
It took him two more repetitions of his request and a twenty dollar bill but he did eventually gain two large hot cups of coffee. He wound his way back out to where Bobbi was standing with her back to a wall people watching. Approaching her, he was startled as always by how normal and forgettable she looked in a crowd. She did things with her body language that made her blend into the masses around her, head down, shoulders slumped. She had the cloth bags with their Christmas purchases tucked between her feet, hands free. She was--he knew--quite heavily armed. One of them always was.
When he slid up next to her though, everything changed. Looking at him, her face lit up like it always did. He caught his breath at the unconscious joy and love that she always expressed upon seeing him. It was, he knew, a mirror of his own expression. Married for three plus years now and every day they were both still astonished by it. They stared at each other in quiet wonder for a few heartbeats, like teenagers, and then he handed her one of the drinks.
She grimaced. “No milk? No sugar?”
“You wanna put milk and sugar into your coffee like some sort of heathen, I’m not being responsible for it.”
When she came back with her doctored drink, he was already done with his.
“How do you even have a lining left on your tongue, you drink hot coffee like that?”
“Didn’t have a problem with my tongue last night,” Clint said, resting his hand on her hip. She crowded up into him, pressing her pubic bone against his thigh, sipping from her coffee in a wildly lascivious manner and how was that even possible?. He held very still, letting the heat of her soak through their clothes and directly into his crotch.
“We still have shopping to finish,” she said with a tiny smile, her eyes flickering with naughty joy. He grinned at her, knowing she was in a similar state of arousal. By unconscious agreement, they continued shopping, not really talking much but always touching. The tension and desire ramped up, becoming a living breathing thing between them, until Clint was debating risking the surveillance cameras in the maintenance corridor.
And then the “emergency” pulse went off on both their Avengers ID cards. Bobbi gathered up all the bags they had and hurled them at the nearest customer service desk. “Have those delivered to Avengers Tower!” she yelled and took off after Clint, already half way down the mall and accelerating. They navigated the crowds of lumbering shoppers as stationary obstacles, vaulting the smaller people, dekeing around the others. They were on the mezzanine level and Bobbi managed to catch up to Clint just as he went into a flat out sprint towards the edge . They both launched off the railing as though on springs, each of them spinning and tumbling in the air to land in graceful crouches inches from each other by the main doors to the outside.
The sounds of people screaming in panic followed them out the door and down the street. They were a seven minute run from the Tower.
They made it in five.
The high speed elevator ejected them onto the conference/armory level without being told. The rest of the team was already in the meeting room but even from the end of the hallway they could both tell something was strange.
Literally, since the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth Doctor Stephen Strange was standing at the end of the table, in tense quiet conversation with Captain America.
The entire room stared at the Bartons as they ducked in, barely breathing hard, and slid into their normal seats. They were separated by Falcon, Black Widow and Banner since Steve had caught them playing footsie during briefings.
“What?” Bobbi said. “I told like five of you where we were and…” she trailed off as she registered the number of people in the room. Other than the eight Avengers the Fantastic Four were huddled up against one wall, Sue and Reed having some deeply intense conversation with Johnny Storm staring at them in appalled disgust. Ben Grimm was holding his rock plated head in his hands. Misty Knight and Iron Fist--Danny Rand--were standing close to Steve and Stephen, both looking bemused. Danny threw Bobbi a significant look from under his bandana/mask as she took her seat. At the door to the adjacent tech room, Fitz Simmons hovered, talking to each other in a rapid undertone.
“Holy fuck, what’s going on? World War Three?’ Clint breathed in a horrified voice.
"The magical equivalent, yes," Doctor Strange. "And I think perhaps the two of you are the only ones who can prevent it."
Strange had a way of making dramatic, sweeping pronouncements that rivaled Steve's ability to make a complicated situation seem simple in a few sentences.
Clint and Bobbi stared at him, open mouthed and astonished.
Strange swept his cloak around and paced to the far wall. "A few days ago, I sensed a break in the fabric of reality."
Stark, who had his head down on the table, piped up. "When did that sentence become 'just another day at work' around here?"
Strange ignored him. "Investigating I discovered one of the higher demons had decided to test the barrier that separates its hell from our plane of existence. This particular demon has a special affinity: sexual magic."
Bobbi started blinking rapidly. Clint spread his hands out on the table, staring at Strange with something like awe.
"It had been carefully, secretly building up power for...I don't know how long. Decades, perhaps, to have gone unnoticed by the greater powers. Including myself. Now, it is readying for an all out assault on this reality. And I am not strong enough to fight it." He paused, looked around the room. "Alone, anyway."
Captain America looked at his team, then the rest of the heroes. "Doctor Strange has explained this to me and it seems that my team is especially suited to fighting with him. We would need the rest of you to cover for us while we're fighting on his turf."
"The Astral Plane?" asked Black Widow.
"Yes," said Strange. "But there is another aspect of this."
"Kundalini," Bobbi breathed, her face very still but her eyes shining.
"Yes, indeed. How do you know that?" Strange stared at her.
"After Baba Yaga I've been reading up," Bobbi said in tense voice. "Feri, OTO, Crowley. Voudon, Santeria. Runes, spirit walking, the whole package."
"Good." Strange spread his hands, the jewel on his chest glowing brightly "This creature has used the dark aspects of that sexual magic: pain, blood. The best possible way to counter it is with the-same-but-opposite."
"And what the hell does that mean?" Banner said in an irritated voice. He really hated the irrational aspects of their lives.
"I mean that the best way to counter sexual energy built with death is with sexual magic built through love. And..." He looked at Iron Fist, Misty, the Richards. "And that magic is obtained most purely through the love of a formerly bonded couple."
"Why, exactly, would that matter?" Reed said in a voice as nearly angry as any of them had ever heard from him. He was actively blushing.
"As above, so below," muttered Falcon, of all people.
Strange spread his hands again. "Yes. The rituals of our lives, here, resonate into the ether. There is power in a formal declaration of commitment to each other. Which is why I asked the Richards to be here. Other than the Bartons they are the only married couple I know who would be able to...endure...what is necessary."
"We're not married," Misty said with a snap. "Why are we here?"
Strange nodded. "Yes, but you are bonded to one another and the Iron Fist's mystical power is considerable. One way or another I hope you will stay to assist."
"Strange, what exactly are you asking us to DO?" Clint snapped.
"I need a bonded pair to spend at least the next twelve-more like fourteen-hours...making love."
Clint reached over and grabbed Stark by the front of the shirt. "Tony, if this is a prank, I will END you."
Stark shook him off. "I don't have a death wish!"
Bobbi was uncharacteristically silent. When the group look over, she was staring straight ahead, her mouth a little open.
She shook her head suddenly "Oh, sorry, I blacked out there for a second. Are you saying you need us to fight evil...by fucking?"
"Perhaps not in that brutalist an idiom, but yes. Basically."
Bobbi hopped the table and grabbed Stark herself, her face pressed up against his. "If this is a prank, Anthony--"
Steve pulled her off him. "It's not. It's serious. Stop screwing around you two."
Clint stood up and tucked Bobbi into his arms. "Cap, someone walks in here and tells you your god damn perfect fantasy was about to come true--on Christmas eve!--and you try not to be skeptical."
Black Widow looked at Doctor Strange. "And this would be why they are your chosen ones."
"I--the spirit is willing, I swear," Reed Richards piped up. "I'm just..ahhhh...older...than...."
Johnny Storm bent over at the waist, making gagging noises. Sue hit him in the back of the head, then touched her husband's face. "I have faith in you but we also have children to care for. And it's Christmas Eve. I'd say no just based on that."
Bobbi still had a dazed look. "Logistics. Food, water, bathroom breaks. Need to go organize," she muttered in an intense voice.
"No, you don't," Strange said firmly. "I need the energy generated by this...ritual...to be as pure as possible. Which means I will place your physical bodies in a magical coma. The rest will occur on the astral plane. You will not need to eat or sleep--but!--the act will feel the same to both of you and it will be physically and spiritually draining. Ideally, I will have you both on intravenous feed."
"Doctor, it might be best if you explained this whole thing to everyone, right now," Captain America said in a slow, soft voice. The team could tell he was horrifically embarrassed but it was likely the rest of the room didn't realize it. "Since you're talking like you need all of us at some point."
Strange paced the front of the room again, light firm steps that were almost soundless. "Captain, this demon--I will not say its name, for that might alert it to my interest--has been building this power to attempt to break through into our reality. I am monitoring--my allies are monitoring--the progress and estimate that it will 'chip' through the main barrier between it and our plane in fourteen hours, give or take a few minutes. I can patch the place where it is trying to come through but that will simply delay it and reveal my knowledge of its plans."
"Fourteen hours? That's cutting this a little close," Iron Fist said, his voice clear, cold and suddenly very serious. Falcon and Captain America exchange a look. Danny Rand was a happy-go-lucky, flippant child of privilege. But he was also the Iron Fist, the current incarnation of an Immortal Weapon, the bearer of the mark of Shou-Lou the Undying Dragon and one of the most deadly and effective fighters on the planet. One of the gifts of the mark of the dragon on his chest was a finer, clearer understanding of the mystical than anyone in the room but Strange. He looked, under his mask, angry. Danny never looked angry.
"I know, Iron Fist. I am deeply deeply ashamed and displeased by all this and am already taking precautions that it won't happen again. If I had seen this earlier I could have asked the Bartons consent to set a 'slow energy trap' and just let it build into my reserves at their own pace. Now we must do this swiftly and therefore at a much greater risk." Strange turned to the Avengers and the Fantastic Four again. "Once the demon breaks into our reality--well, into the astral of this reality--I will be able to use the accumulated Kundalini energy to scour it out of existence and close the breach it has made. I dislike killing but this thing is pure evil, I can show you proofs of that. I would need the rest of you--well, most of you--to be present with me at the moment of break through. It will have lesser defenders and once I begin the cleansing ritual I will not be able to stop. If I am interrupted or killed--that will rebound onto Hawkeye and Mockingbird. Lethally."
Bobbi was sitting in Hawkeye's lap, her head on his chest. "Well, I always did want to die in bed with someone's husband. My own, preferably."
Hawkeye started to laugh, soundlessly, nodding his head.
Strange stared at them both, shaking his head. "Basically, once I have to start the ritual I would take as many of you as I could with me into the astral, leaving your bodies here. You would protect me for the time--likely only minutes--it will take to complete. But I cannot take all of you. Iron Man I cannot bring that much technology into the other realms so you would remain here. Guns, Falcon's wings, Ms. Knight's arm that would be about all. Doctor Banner, the energy of the Hulk would not be conducive...and in any case I would request you be the one to monitor the Bartons vital signs." He looked at the big Asgardian sitting quietly at the end of the table. "And you, Prince Odinson, I cannot work around the magical protections your lady mother has placed on you without breaking them down. That I will not do. So I must leave you here as well."
"Indeed," Thor rumbled. "I am content to guard my comrades physical forms on this night of winter festival."
"I'll be assisting with the medical aspects too," called Jemma Simmons from the side door. Strange nodded.
"Sue, Reed, I think perhaps you would be better here, but if Ben and Johnny were willing, I can use both of them. They each have a unique flavor to their personal energies which would be useful."
"Tha's gotta be the first time anyone's ever compared me'n'you favorably, kid," The Thing rumbled, aiming a swat at the Human Torch.
"Well, I am just that awesome, hard to keep up ," Johnny Storm retorted, dodging lithely.
"We're in," said The Thing.
"That leaves myself, Black Widow, Falcon, Ms. Knight and Iron Fist from the Avengers. Will that be enough? We can call Spiderman or the X Men if you need more?" Captain America asked.
Strange shook his head. "Smaller is better, Captain, less of a strain on me, bringing and maintaining your astral bodies. Once in the astral you would simply fight as normal."
Steve gestured at Hawkeye and Mockingbird and pointed at the side room. Fitz Simmons cleared out of the way and the three blonds moved to the far side, speaking softly. Mostly Steve spoke, his face calm but emphatic. Lip readers in the conference room saw the words "your choice" spoken more than once. Hawkeye just nodded. Bobbi stood silent for most of the time, then held up a hand and spoke swiftly, sharply: a single sentence that stopped Steve in his tracks and caused Hawkeye to embrace her again.
They all walked back out and Bobbi placed her left hand in Clint's right, their other arms around each other's shoulders. "I, Bobbi Barton, consent to this use of my body and spirit. Freely, of my own will, with joy. I consent, even knowing it could cost me my life."
Clint squeezed her against him. "I, Clint Barton, consent as well. Good god almighty do I ever consent. To all of it."
Captain America looked at Doctor Strange. "You said what happens here resonates into the ether."
Strange swallowed, his inscrutable expression dropping just long enough to let profound relief spread across his face. "Yes. Yes indeed. I could not ask for those words--that would poison the intent--but they are beyond crucial. It means I will be able to tap directly into the deepest emotional bonds of your...congress. It means if I survive long enough to finish the spell, the work will be done once and all. Forever. This thing of violation and pain will be utterly destroyed."
Bobbi's face twisted slightly. "If this thing's been gathering power as long as you say, it's already had a taste of more than one of us, myself included. Choke it to death this time."
"Indeed," said the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. "Let it begin here."
*****
They had swiftly set up the medical bay with the appropriate beds for everyone who was expected to end up on the astral plain. Ben Grimm had been really impressed they had a bed that could hold him. Bobbi and Clint were lying side by side on a double, naked under a sheet. Bruce, Jemma and Leo were finishing up attaching monitors to their foreheads and index fingers, as well as setting up intravenous feed tubes. The rest of the Avengers and their guests were off eating or resting--the Richards had gone home to the Baxter building to be with their children but The Thing and Torch had decided to stay on site.
Captain America, Iron Man and Black Widow were on a conference call with Professor Xavier, Black Panther, Spiderman, Daredevil, Luke Cage and Colleen Wing, detailing what they would need to know if disaster struck.
Iron Fist was sitting in the lotus position on the spare bed close to Bobbi, joking with her lightly. Doctor Strange was also in the lotus position, but hovering in the air at the head of the bed. Leo Fitz kept staring at him and muttering under his breath. Jemma Simmons was trying not to stare and mostly failing. Clint was teasing her a little, his eyes bright.
Bruce was just going about this business, checking in with his team mates and looking over the equipment one more time. "Okay, this is all ready. You need us to leave the room?"
"Stay if you like. There won't be much of a show." Strange already sounded a million miles away, the brooch at his throat pulsing with a deep red light.
Iron Fist closed his eyes, a faint shimmer starting around his hands, resting on his knees. Fitz Simmons and Banner backed away from the bed and watched with the fascination of scientists confronted with real, visible magic. A low soft thrumm spread through the air and Bobbi and Clint, their hands clasped on the outside of the sheet both suddenly went stiff then limp. From the corner of Jemma's eye when she turned her head she could see something that looked like a silver aura sparkling a few centimeters from their bodies.
"Oh, take care of each other," she murmured putting her arm through Fitz's and leaning into him.
*****
Bobbi sat up, looking around. She was naked lying on the floor next to their bed in the Nest. The floor to ceiling picture windows on one wall looked out on a peaceful beachscape, all white sand and blue water.
"Not Kansas," said Clint from the other side of the bed. "Really not Kansas anymore." He stood up, also gloriously, unselfconsciously naked. Bobbi looked up the length of him from her seat on the carpet, her smile going broader.
"I asked him for something more picturesque than even the New York skyline," Bobbi said as she stood up herself. The bedroom was exactly as she knew it to be, just spotlessly clean and lacking any doors. They were marooned in a little bubble in the astral plane, according to Strange, where he could easily tap the energies of their love making.
Clint walked around the bed and pulled her into his arms. "I really don't care what's outside the window," he hummed against her hair.
"Yeah, but a howling grey void would wreck my mood," she returned.
"Oh, you're not going to have time to look around, little bird. Or the energy."
"Strange said we have to pace ourselves," she giggled against his chest, rubbing her cheek on the crinkly hair lightly coating it.
"Start strong," Clint hissed, then picked her up and pinned her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her mouth on his throat, both of them filled with a sense of light energy. They felt more present than usual and in this place, skin to skin, any concerns about stamina or fatigue flew away. Bobbi felt she could taste his sweat like this to the end of time; Clint felt he could breathe nothing but the scent of her hair till the universe imploded.
Bobbi laughed, her words a buzzing against his skin. "Remember, he said it wasn't the climax that mattered, but the pleasure."
"That's why I'd like to get this messy urgent part out of the way, so we can get down to business and I can have some real fun. For a change ," Clint growled into her ear, changing his grip so that he was supporting her at hip and buttock. His erect cock pressed into the downy skin of her stomach, already slick with sweat.
Gasping, Bobbi arched into him. He was the only man she'd been with physically powerful enough to make this position viable. She was no lightweight waif but Clint could hold her up even without the wall for support, and manipulate them both with ease.
"For a change? Like I'm holding you back?" she hissed at him through clenched teeth, her tone both urgent and teasing.
"Little bird, you're only human," he teased back, hiking her up a little higher, until the tip of his erection nudged against her labia.
"Oh, and what are you?" Bobbi said in a challenging voice, opening her eyes and staring at him in blue-grey affront.
Clint laughed, the blue of his own eyes so dark they were almost black. "Tonight, I'm the god of love, little bird. Merry Christmas."
He let her slide down in his grip, till he was inside her to the hilt. She made a noise, part sob, part moan, part sigh, letting her head drop onto his shoulder and biting him lightly.
He laughed, holding very still. "I used to think the sound of a perfect shot coming off the bow string was the best noise ever...but I know now it's that sound, the one you make when I'm right inside you again. There is nothing better than that."
Bobbi laughed, then gasped again as he pumped his hips slowly, both of them lost for a moment in the sensation. No matter how often they made love, the shock of this contact held them both in awe: her slick wetness, his burning strength.
"Which god?" she murmured when she could speak again , licking and biting her way up his neck.
"Hunghh?" Clint muttered, still half dazed.
"Which god of love? I'd think winged Eros, the embodiment of sexual power. Or Kamadeva, the Hindu god of human love. He carried a bow made of sugarcane and bees."
Clint drew back and stared at her incredulously. "You know, there are days even I can't clock how that brain of yours works."
Bobbi's eyes glittered wickedly. "Well, I've decided that tonight I'm Sekhmet, the goddess of war and love, the lioness, She Who Mauls, Mistress of Dread, One Before Whom Evil Trembles. Try to keep up, sport." Her thighs tightened around his hips and she bucked against him. Laughing, Clint locked his mouth onto hers--she tasted of berries and chocolate and all good things-- and started to thrust in earnest.
*****
Back in Avengers Tower both Iron Fist and Doctor Strange yelped, their eyes flying open. The sound drew Fitz Simmons and Bruce Banner back into the room.
"That wasn't just...you felt that too?" Iron Fist gulped.
"By the hoary hosts of Hoggoth," Strange said under his breath. "I...yes...I...that was unexpected."
"What? Should we be worried?" Bruce snapped.
"The exact opposite, Doctor Banner," Strange said slowly. "If they can keep this up, we'll be ready in plenty of time. In fact, I'm beginning to think Hawkeye and Mockingbird have missed their calling. I could turn them into the most powerful Tantric magicians in history."
Simmons advanced on Iron Fist, her face twisted in concern. "Mr...Iron Fist. Are you all right?"
He looked oddly off balance, for a man sitting in the Lotus position , but he shook his head at her. "I'm okay. I'm just...um, is Misty around? I think I need to talk to her a minute. I'm feeling a little...um..."
"Inadequate?" Doctor Strange supplied dryly. "Myself, as well."
*****
Clint came hard, coughing and gasping against her neck, pushing her into the wall with his body. Bobbi laughed in his ear and coaxed his hands off her hips, drew him into her arms as she set her feet onto the ground.
"I'm sorry, little bird," he whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. She hadn't climaxed.
"You always say that and it never matters. It matters even less tonight." She leaned in, her warm rich voice thrumming in his ear. "I held back. Strange told me this thing--demon--revels in pain and violation and it prefers to hurt women. So the best weapon against it is my pleasure, my love, my joy. I know you get frustrated that I don't let you play as much as you like."
She danced him around in a circle, as though waltzing in a ballroom, spinning them both until they fell together onto the soft yielding surface of their marriage bed, facing each other. She kissed him deeply, slowly, till neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.
"So tonight, sport, my Hawk, my love, you can compose concertos and symphonies, song after song until we're both drunk with love."
"Best. Christmas. Ever." Clint breathed against her cheek. One long strong hand started its slow journey from her neck down her body and Bobbi arched her back, eyes closing to concentrate better on the pure sensation of those callused, silken fingers against her skin.
They fell together into something like a trance of prayer, worshipping each other.
*****
Captain America wandered into the infirmary around hour nine, his cowl pulled down to lie against his neck. Everything was quiet--Fitz Simmons and Banner had all gone to sleep hours ago. Iron Fist was with Misty in one of the guest quarters possibly sleeping too; Doctor Strange had not moved from where he was...floating...since the last time he'd spoke. Way at the far end of the large room, Tony Stark stood bathed in the blue-white glow of his holographic displays, working with those smooth sharp motions that always reminded Steve of some hunting bird, darting after fish.
Contemplating his nemesis/friend/brother Steve was struck by how small he was out of his armor. Muscular, yes, but slim with it. His powerful intellect informed every line of his body, though. His shoulders seemed to hold the tension of a man who wanted to work with his hands, to touch and manipulate, to forge iron. His face, framed by his neat beard, was still but his eyes gleamed. Despite himself, Steve smiled fondly. He and Tony scrapped like siblings about nearly everything but there was no doubt in either of them that it came from...well, it was love. They loved each other.
Tony looked up and Steve wiped the smile off his face instantly. Tony didn't need to get even cockier...
He narrowed his eyes at the super soldier, then nodded. Steve joined him in the little alcove, turning around to watch Strange and the Bartons. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Stark appeared to be scanning Strange.
"This is really...concerning for you, isn't it? This magic stuff?" Steve asked quietly.
"No, I love powerful forces that have no rational explanation and are currently tapping the sexual energy--whatever the hell that means--of two of my friends. Under my roof. With no way for me to help or even accurately measure what's happening. God, the hammer is bad enough but I can chalk that up to Clarke's law..."
"Hmmm?"
"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
"This is different because?" Steve said, waving at the tableau in the main room.
"See this?" Stark grabbed a display and flicked it in front of Steve's face.
Studying it, Steve mused "That looks like a medical scanner result. But it's a little weird."
"It's the live feed of Bobbi and Clint's bio-metrics. Heartbeat, brain activity, blood chemistry. Everything, literally everything, is identical to when they're having sex. Except for the fact they are lying over there like corpses, not moving."
"Do I want to know how you know that?" Steve asked cautiously.
"Oh, they had sex inside one of the scanners for me a while back. We were all drunk; you were in Europe," Stark muttered casually, still concentrating on the display.
"No, I did not want to know that," Steve confirmed.
"And then there's the matter of my defiance of gravity I suppose." Doctor Strange had quietly unfolded himself while they talked and was walking towards them, his demeanor as cool and serious as the World's Greatest Engineer.
"Yeah, I was blotting that part out," Stark said grumpily.
"You, Captain, don't seem quite as disturbed by all this?" Strange rolled his shoulders once, a remarkably normal gesture for him, seeming out of place in the current atmosphere.
"I saw a few things, over the years of the war, that made me a little more receptive to the idea of...well, magic. A run in with something in eastern Europe that seemed a little...um...vampire-ish?" Steve looked at Tony sheepishly.
"Really? We should have a lengthy chat about that," Strange said firmly.
"Just don't do it with me in a room, I don't wanna know," Stark muttered.
"It may surprise you Iron Man, but I'm not called 'Doctor' as an honorific. I'm--I was--a surgeon. One of the best in the world. So I went through medical school. I love and honor the gifts of science to this world--which would not exist without it. But now I'm something else and...it's not as incompatible with my background as you'd think. This is just a different kind of science, in some ways. It's repeatable. It's measurable. It's just not available all the time." He stared at the displays for a bit. "Do you happen to have a similar scan of either of them fighting? Hawkeye shooting, Mockingbird stick fighting?"
"I gotta think being a surgeon is am easier job than 'Sorcerer Supreme', what gives with the job change?" Stark asked as he tapped through menus, then came up with another read out labelled 'Hawkeye Shooting, Baseline'.
Strange paused for a long time, staring at the two readouts, then sighed and held up his hands. Back lit by the display, his fingers were clearly crooked, his hands crabbed. "I was in a car accident. One that I caused; my hands were shattered. Science could heal them this far but they aren't steady. I was too proud, too arrogant, to take a teaching position. I went searching for something, anything that could heal me. And I found magic." He touched two sections of the HUD. "See this? This is the stress hormone level in Hawkeye's blood."
Captain America leaned in and studied what he was pointing at. For once Stark followed his lead and did not press their guest any further. "That doesn't even look like it's registering anything at all."
"Exactly. Hawkeye's bow pulls what? Two hundred? Two hundred fifty pounds?"
"Two thirty," Stark supplied.
"So he is exerting enormous force on his muscles merely holding it at draw; in this reference he's actively shooting at a target, correct? His brain and nervous systems should be revving like high performance engines. His whole body well into the 'red zone' of combat, blood misting the sides of his vision, limbs getting shaky, adrenaline spiking, fatigue poisons building to a breaking point. Nearly the same thing right now--his blood chemistry a stew of testosterone, cortisol, adrenaline again. Sex at the level these two are capable of is hard physical work. And yet he would appear--chemically--null. As though he was sleeping. He--and her, I've seen her in full combat mode and she seemed as at ease as a woman lounging in her bath--have turned themselves into living weapons. Pushed their bodies to the edge and beyond by sheer force of will so often they have moved that edge into infinity. They have turned their mortal frames into vessels that can stand in concert with a very god. That is--to me--a kind of magic." He looked at Captain America, Iron Man, his gaze deep and dark and filled with knowledge. "I have heard you, Captain, turn the minds of a mob from hatred and violence into sympathy with their intended victim with nothing more than simple words. I have watched you, Iron Man, create miracles of technology with junk and the power of your intellect. This is also magic to me. I live in a world of mutable rules: they meld, change, re-arrange themselves but they are still rules I can read and follow. I think what you Avengers do is the real sorcery."
Stark looked away, visibly moved and uncomfortable with it. Steve nodded, standing a little straighter if that was possible.
"Since Baba Yaga, Doctor Strange, we all consider you an Avenger too, you know," he said.
"I am not worthy, Captain," Strange said humbly.
"Yeah, well, he has that effect on people," Stark rejoined.
*****
Clint looked up from between Bobbi's thighs, his face glistening with her juices. "You okay, little bird?"
"Um, no. But yes. It's just...how do you do this?" She gasped, shoving herself up onto her elbows. "How do you hold back like this? I've SEEN you do it."
"Mmmmm," he said, shifting up to kiss her, tasting himself on her tongue as she tasted herself on his lips. His left hand stayed cupped against her sex, his mobile fingers stroking and teasing. "Every guy is different. I think about arrow trajectories."
"It's really fucking HARD," she whimpered.
"Yeah, I know. But you can take it. You can take it. I'm not fully stocked yet."
He'd noticed her and Black Widow sharing tongue in cheek comments about 'stocking up' in the first few months of their marriage. Through a combination of alcohol, strip poker and big puppy eyes he'd wheedled it out of both of them that they referred to his proclivity for lengthy oral as 'stocking up on pussy for a long hard winter'.
Bobbi laughed at him, her eyes as wild and filled with joy as they were when she was fighting. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts into his chest. He took the bait, leaning down to suck hard on each nipple in turn. She preferred he focussed on her throat and ribs than her breasts but that move in particular made her nuts.
When he raised his head it was to his Bobbi, his little bird, the person he was sure no one but he saw. Vulnerable, powerful, yearning, decisive. Dominant, submissive, demanding, compliant. Brilliant, reckless, violent, calm. All things to him, a guarded mystery to everyone else. He worshiped her with all his soul. Knowing she worshipped him back completed something in an uneducated orphan from Iowa.
She stared at him open-mouthed, her eyes huge. "We have hours left. I can do this, I swear. But, oh, my hawk, go slow. Be gentle. I'm a little sore, already."
"It's all in your head, little bird," he said with a grin, sliding down her body, leading with his tongue. He found her clit and kissed it, then sucked lightly until she sobbed.
Laughing, Clint slide two fingers deep inside her. Her hips spasmed, her body shaking. He looked up the length of her strong beautiful body, reveling in the power he had over her, the power she had over him. "I love you little bird. But you're just going to have to deal with me pleasuring you until you scream. We're saving the world here."
"Bring it," she gasped.
*****
Strange had called his warriors to battle and they were taking to their beds one by one. Banner and Stark were talking quietly in the corner, discussing quantum physics from the brief flashes Fitz was catching. Simmons was obsessively checking each Avenger, each bed, each monitor. Sue, Reed and family had returned. Reed and the children were in the main living area with Pepper Potts and Jane Foster, setting up Christmas decorations; Sue was sitting next to her brother. They expected when he 'flamed on' in the astral he would ignite in the real world and Sue could contain him with her force fields.
Thor--the only Avenger with any real experience in the mystical--was listening to Iron Fist and Doctor Strange talking and occasionally interjecting something. Every time he spoke, they both stopped to consider his words.
Captain America sat on his designated bed, looking over at Black Widow, who would be next to him on the right. "This is really odd, even for us, isn't it?"
She gave him that tight little smile. "Yes. But as I've said to another blond boy around here in the past 'This is magic and monsters and nothing we were ever trained for'. I think that's the job description though. 'Nothing will ever be what you trained for'."
"Well, I do get to hit things with my shield more often than not," he said, rubbing the back of his neck through his cowl. They were all in their combat uniforms since Strange said it made the 'resonances easier to manage'.
Their eyes strayed to the double bed that held the Bartons. They both looked pale, almost bleached, their strong bodies limp and lifeless. Whatever was happening in their astral bubble was taking an obvious physical toll on them but their heartbeats were strong. They were still...fighting.
*****
Bobbi cried out, throwing her head back against Clint's chest. He was spooned up against her from behind, hips pumping in a short hard rhythm; she wasn't quite on her stomach, one knee pushed up and out. He had his arm wrapped around her neck for support, the other across her hips. His fingers were spread against her pubic bone, rubbing smoothly. She cried out again, hands flashing out clutch at the bedsheets, wrap and twist the fabric in something like desperation.
Clint sucked in his breath, held it, eyes squeezed shut. Bobbi thrashed and howled, her voice going deep and dark, like the velvet of a moonless night. He felt her body contract around him, tugging and holding him like a satin glove. He groaned, a long deep noise and they climaxed together.
There was a sensation of falling away, as if they were lying in a tub of hot water than was being drained out from beneath them.
They had both begun to feel the flow of the energy from them to something outside, something--someone--familiar. Friendly. Impressed.
The bone deep fatigue setting in seemed like more than just tiredness.
Clint rolled onto his back and pulled her with him; she turned and squirmed until she was against his chest. Instantly she started licking and kissing his neck; rubbing her cheek on his chest, lightly biting his nipples. They lay like that for a long long time, panting raggedly out of time with each other.
He sighed, stroking her hair, his fingers sticky. The air was heavy with musk and sweat and he couldn't breathe deeply enough. Literally. His chest felt tight and thick, as though it was filling up with liquid.
He actually knew that that felt like, standing on a roof covering his teammates escape as a bullet wound drained blood and lymph into his chest cavity, each breath a struggle, each arrow a triumph.
Bobbi reared her head up over him, blinking muzzily. She sensed his mood change and frowned. The skin on her cheeks look tight, shiny, as though it was drawn down against the bone with a vise and deep purple bruises were forming under her eyes. From the expression on her face, he probably didn't look much better.
Frankly, Clint suspected they were both dying now, the weight of the energy being leached out of them shutting down their physical bodies.
"Not quite the cake walk we were expecting, hmm, sport?" She laughed softly. "We're close. The clock says thirteen and half hours. We can hold on till the end. We have to."
"Even if we don't Strange has what he needs," Clint said. "And like you said, I'm okay going out in bed with someone's wife. Mine, even."
She bit his right nipple perhaps a tad harder than necessary. The little jolt of pain slapped him awake. He pushed himself up, shoved back until he was against the headboard and the wall. Bobbi grinned at him, crawled up the length of the bed, stroking her breasts along his legs, his groin, his torso. She paused to worship a little then--his abs and pecs were her religious icons--and he felt his body respond to the familiar, beloved caress.
When she was settled where she was supposed to be, in his lap, skin on skin from thigh to lips, he fixed his hands onto the curve of her hips and lifted her up enough to slide her onto his stiffening cock.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friend," she whispered in his ear.
"We few, we happy few," he whispered back.
*****
Outside the Barton's bubble, in another part of the astral plane, the band of brothers (and sisters) that was the Avengers and their allies now stood ready.
His eyes had closed and there had been a moment of dislocation, of falling--then Captain America had found himself standing on a featureless plane, grey ground and pale beige sky stretching out in every direction.
Save one: directly in front of him was a roiling cloud of...darkness. It was not black, precisely, but instead a color without colors, formless form, with no edge that he could discern. It billowed and shivered obscenely, like a maggot pushing against the skin of dead beast from underneath. He swallowed hard, suppressing a sudden desperate need to vomit.
One by one the others stepped up next to him, all in various poses and expressions of disgust and discomfort. A wave of energy, reeking of evil like the stench of a mass grave, flowed from that discord endlessly.
And it was getting stronger. Closer.
Doctor Strange moved to the front of the group. "I do not think we will wait to let the demon make its own way into our plane. The element of surprise will hold it for a few heartbeats so I can begin the spell unmolested. Misty, Black Widow, Falcon, Human Torch--I will need you to act as my personal guard. I have altered the rules of this plane so that your weapons, your skills, will have their normal affect. You need prevent the outliers of the demon's spawn and slaves from reaching me. You have more power here than you know, each of you recalling one of the four cardinal elements: Earth, Water, Air, Fire."
He turned to the other three. "Captain, Iron Fist, Benjamin, you are each of you a force of nature in your own way, representing three of the major components of magic. You are my shock troops. You can bring the fight to the creature itself. Every ounce of power you drain from it in combat is another ounce I do not need to take from Hawkeye and Mockingbird--for they stand on the razor's edge now. They have literally given me everything they have. Their lives hang on the success of this spell. "
He gestured at Iron Fist. "You are Spirit, that flows from heart to the mind unimpeded."
At the Thing. "You are Body, the clay of the earth personified, power and strength given form."
Lastly Captain America. "And you are Will, born not of selfishness and anger but from courage, honor, need."
Strange turned and stared directly at the abomination that grew and swirled before them. A crack had formed on its face, a crazed web of glowing lines, green and yellow with rot.
"Iron Fist. Captain America. Thing. Knock for me, would you?" He folded his eyes into the Lotus Position again, hovering above the ground.
His four guards stepped up, tense and ready. The other three all walked forward until they were almost touching the edge of the unclean thing.
Iron Fist's hands began to glow and he swept them in long slow circles, his lean body moving in an exquisite dance behind them.
Thing slammed his fists together, his low voice rumbling what might have been a Yiddish prayer.
Captain America raised his shield, the red white and blue lines almost luminescent against the evil darkness that he faced.
As one, the three champions stepped forward. Two fists, one now burning with light, the other a rocky hammer, swung back. The symbol of a mighty nation in the hands of its most devoted son was held high.
All three weapons hammered forward, striking the centre of the crack in reality within millimeters of each other.
The shuddering wall of existential filth and violation shivered and exploded inward, revealing a swirling chaos of pain and need and hatred that took its own physical form. It contracted like dying bug, a sense of shock spreading through its horror.
From every mortal throat a cry went up, both wordless howls and their individual battle cries, defiant and unrelenting.
"Avengers Assemble!"
"It's Clobbering Time!"
"Flame On!"
"Not in the face!"
That last was Falcon, sweeping into the air. At the dirty look he got from Black Widow he laughed. "Hey, someone's gotta fill in for the Bartons!"
Misty laughed, high and clear, and started to pick off the shapes that were now streaming into their reality through the hole. Black Widow took aim herself, trying not to look at the blobs of blackness, things with too many legs and eyes and mouths, shapes that were humanoid but faceless, radiating pain and terror with every step. Falcon and the Human Torch circled over them, flames and bullets making an umbrella of protection over the Sorcerer Supreme of earth, now deep in his trance.
At the center of the crack something...loomed, still that not-blackness of death and pollution. It breathed profanity and ruin, defilement and degradation.
It seemed to speak from no mouth but a gaping hole in its own existence, low slow slurred words intended to break and tear without killing. The sound of its voice was the sound of children screaming in agony, women shrieking in terror, men being torn apart from the inside.
For one eternal heartbeat each of the heroes heard a familiar voice in that stew of despair: a loved one for most but for a few their own voice.
Captain America heard many: mostly the women and men he'd seen violated during the war and been unable to save but high and clear over all of those Bobbi's voice in a sustained ululation of torment.
Rage flared in every line of his body. It was the sound of his beloved friend, his sister in all but blood being raped and tortured by Lincoln Slade. This monster had fed on her pain, was trying to use it destroy his very reality.
"Not today you bastard!" Cap yelled. "Not ever!"
He leapt to the edge of the breach and slammed his shield into the creature's maw. As one, Iron Fist and the Thing followed, hammering the revolting power of the thing away, driving it back with the sheer force of their fury alone. The vile strength of it rolled over them, tasting of filth and death.
*****
Bobbi and Clint both gasped, a fresh flood of energy spearing through both of them. In the back of her head, Bobbi heard Steve's voice, clear and deep and unafraid, crying out in defiance of evil.
Looking down, she saw that same echo in Clint's eyes.
And then they both heard--as if from the other side of the window--Simmons screaming:
"The defib machine! They're going to cardiac arrest!"
"One. Last. Go, little bird," Clint gasped against her chest.
She buried her hands in his sandy hair, raked his head back, mauled his throat. She left red marks, some spotted with blood, as she worked up to his lips. Eyes wide open, bodies pumping, the Bartons kissed with a frenzied passion as the buzzing noise of the defibrillator rose louder and louder in the air...
Their pleasure built in unison, a single chord sung with both their souls.
*****
The tide of swirling horror inside the void contracted, seemed to pull its tendrils of animate evil back inside itself. It reared up over the tiny forms of the Avengers and their allies, a roar building that threatened to shatter their very souls. One by one they faltered, falling to their knees.
Captain America fell but his shield hit the ground first. The solid clang of the vibranium reverberated up his arm, into his spine. He held in a crouch, his head down, gasping in the agony that flowed from the thing that sought to control and destroy them all.
It was more than a mortal should be able to stand. But he was Captain America. He was the living embodiment of honor, of bravery, of the strength of character that had defeated the Red Skull, brought down Hydra in not one but two centuries.
He was Captain America. He was the leader of the Avengers, Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Gods and legends obeyed his word. Hell, sometimes even the Bartons did what he said. He was no mortal man.
He was Will itself made animate, power as pure and clean as this thing was cowardly and defiled.
And so, centimeter by centimeter, he straightened. He rose, standing tall.
They rose beside him, his comrades, his team mates, his friends: rising back up again, making a wall of courage and rage and fury between Doctor Strange and the demon, they stood together.
Assembled.
Strange uncurled from his trance and raised both hands above his head, his mouth working in fast silent speech. A ball of white light formed between his palms, spread, grew until it was so bright it cast the black giant shadows of the heroes against the split in the wall of reality in sharp relief. In the air now sang a high note, like a crystal ringing after being struck by a pure fork of silver.
The evil thing on the other side stopped dead and Captain America knew suddenly that it was afraid.
He raised his shield and down the line weapons, fists, wings, flames rose in unison.
Doctor Strange's spell completed and he threw the accumulated energy of the Barton's love, joy and pleasure into the maw of the demon, speeded on its way with the strength and power of the heroes before him.
The light impacted the darkness...
...and everything went black.
*****
Steve woke up in his own bed but still in his costume. That was a comfort since the only person he would have trusted to undress him was Black Widow and he figured she'd probably lost consciousness too.
He changed slowly into a pair of nice pants and a white shirt--well, they did have company and it was Christmas after all--then made his way down to the common floor. He felt weak, drained. His muscles ached as badly as they did when he sprinted on the treadmill for a few hours.
The elevator door opened onto a scene approaching domestic bliss. Sue and Reed Richards were sitting together on the big leather couch, covered in a blanket of tow-headed children, all of them laughing. The Thing and Alicia, his blind girlfriend were standing next to one of the picture windows--he appeared to be describing the view to her. Johnny Storm was in the kitchen section clutching a steaming mug and charming Fitz Simmons, with Tony looking on in bemused wonder. Bruce Banner and Pepper were have a restrained argument over the oven, probably about the turkey.
Falcon and Black Widow were making a popcorn wreath. Iron Fist-in civilian clothes sans his mask, he'd apparently decided to trust everyone there-was prancing about the living room draped in golden tinsel with Misty watching him, her eyes sparkling. Thor and Jane were just visible in the conference room, kissing contentedly.
Standing next to the Christmas tree-a living spruce that extended almost to the eighteen foot ceiling-Stephen Strange was handing an ornament to a blond woman sitting on a blond man's shoulders, his hands on her knees holding her steady. Bobbi and Clint, in jeans and t-shirts.
Steve went over to them instantly, searching their faces for any signs of damage or injury.
The Bartons grinned at him, their eyes bright. They both looked as weak and tired as he felt, eyes sunken and skin pulled tight; as though they hadn't eaten in days. Clint's big hands were still holding her tightly though, and Bobbi's arms may have trembled but they moved with her usual quick ease otherwise.
"Hey, Cap, just in time for the tree lighting. Just let us get this in place," Bobbi said cheerfully. She was holding the traditional tree topper for their personal tree: the Avengers "A" in crystal.
Steve reached out and touched each of them. "Are you all right?"
"Aw, Cap, we had the easy part," Clint scoffed.
"Oh, you mean other than both of your hearts stopping, the extreme dehydration, the nearly critical anemia and severe vitamin deficiency that popped up in just under twelve hours?" Simmons yelled from the kitchen, sounding tipsy. "No, other than that, right as rain!"
"Jemma stop harshing my buzz!" Bobbi yelled back.
"Bite me, Barbara!"
Bobbi looked down at the men. "I may be a bad influence on her." In one fluid motion--that Steve could see was slower and less careless than usual--Bobbi popped to her feet on Clint's shoulders and stretched up to nestle the delicate ornament on the summit of the tree.
It was actually diamond, forged in the fires of Nidavellir, the home of the Dwarves. It had been a gift of Heimdall the first year the Avengers had celebrated Yule together.
That it was unbreakable Steve had always considered a sign.
Bobbi posed for moment, then Clint grabbed her ankles and threw her into the air. She tucked, spun and landed in his arms, laughing like a child.
Doctor Strange looked at them with fond eyes, smiling gently.
Steve stepped away from them, his heart light and full of emotion, deftly skipping around the piles of presents that radiated out from the tree in a maze of joy and friendship and generosity. He could see that 'his' pile was packed with canvas, notebooks, pens and brushes and pastels. His hands itched to rip off the wrapping paper, to draw deep breaths of pencil wood and the weird chemical scent of 'flat white' paint.
Instead he walked to the far wall looking out over the room full of people he cared for. Warm, bright, clean. Safe. On the other side, he caught Tony's dark gaze. They looked at each other, the two patriarchs of the Avengers, and shared the most pure waves of emotion either of them had ever felt.
Joy.
Calm.
Love.
To all, a good night.